


dead girl's love song

by Thinlyletteredabyss



Category: Original Work
Genre: Break Up, Drabble, Gen, Medical Procedures, POV First Person, Prayer, Religious Guilt, Swearing, Waiting Rooms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:40:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24352228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thinlyletteredabyss/pseuds/Thinlyletteredabyss
Summary: A person is waiting for a life-altering medical procedure. Prayer, anger and imminent break up are all entangled in the waiting room.
Kudos: 1





	dead girl's love song

“Let him love a dead girl”, I say, unmoved, undeterred, unyielding. Echo gently caresses those empty walls and goes back to me, a wave, icy cold water at that. “Let him”, I say, my voice shaking. If I don’t even believe myself, whose words will ever bring me solace?

(The first book of the Holy Bible I even read was The Revelations. Do you think it could fuck me up? I was still a child when I read that, eleven or twelve, and it really screws up a child’s mind to read about inevitable fiery pit meant for both the sinners and the saints.)

I whisper the serenity prayer, and each line tastes like lavender syrup, somehow; the taste I most despise – it gets under the tongue, between the teeth, engraves itself into the jaw and the gums.

“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change…”

(I am very careful with the Lord’s name. The Ten Commandments were burnt into my brain very early on, and you better believe when I say, nothing must be recited in vain. But I really need Him to hear me right now. Right fucking now.)

“…courage to change the things I can…”

(This corridor smells like medicine and fear. Fear is my own, I’m sure of that. Excuse me for not being too excited, bitch.)

“…and wisdom to know the difference.”

(My boyfriend – most surely, now my ex – keeps blowing up my phone. Boy, why? It’s too late to change things now. You missed your train, sweetheart.)

My gaze wanders around, and, among the anatomy schemes and the educational leaflets, I note a poster that says “Sometimes, to start a new life, you must put end to the things of old.”

(How. Fucking. Appropriate. Give me a Christian booklet to top it off, put me on blast.)

A nurse exits one of the cabinets, checks out the hallway (dunno who’s she looking for, I’m the only one there), finally notices me and exclaims, obviously flabbergasted: “Sir?”

“Yeah?”

I stand up and pull down my binder – one of the only things of mine I took from my ex’s apartment.

(Honestly, why do I even ask? I know why I’m here. She knows why I’m here, even if it doesn’t really show it.)

“The surgeon is waiting for you”, she finishes gently, surprise fading from her face.

“Well”, I chuckle to myself, “apparently, I’ll pass.”

She’s flabbergasted again. 

(Excuse you, I thought it was a clever joke.)


End file.
